


All that matters is getting this right

by tanyart



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-27
Updated: 2010-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A balance between work and relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All that matters is getting this right

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for squishy870227 for the help_haiti auction on LJ.

It’s the third of August and Spy will be leaving for Badlands, New Mexico, in two hours. Professionally speaking, it makes no difference to him whether or not he fights there or here at Goldrush. The transfer is only temporary; the branch stationed in Badlands is in need of a spy, and the closest team that could do without one for the time being is their own group here. 

“About a week,” Spy tells his team with a smirk, “I’m sure you gentlemen can ‘andle those REDs until then, non?” But when he’s alone with Sniper in the barracks, he assures, “Maybe sooner. Five days, per’aps.” 

Sniper watches him pack a small suitcase—a spare uniform, rec attire, his weapons, his disguise kit—and nods, handing over a carton of Spy’s favorite cigarettes to take with him. Who knows what awful brand Badlands will have, after all. 

It doesn’t surprise Spy that Sniper acts as if nothing is unusual. The separation is nothing new; Spy would sometimes spend a couple of nights within the enemy base, or Sniper would go into the mines on his own for days at a time. Besides, they’ve been without each other before their relationship, so it goes to say that they would be fine in any case. 

Spy clicks his suitcase shut, and claps the carton of cigarettes against his palm to shake loose a stick and pop it between his lips. 

“Well, until then, cher,” he says, mumbling over the cigarette, and heads towards the door. 

Sniper follows after him, brushing close, and Spy thinks—well, it’s rather silly now—but he thinks that Sniper might be leaning over to sling an arm around his shoulders, for an embrace or something. Tilting his head, Spy prepares to plant a quick kiss against Sniper’s jaw, and misses entirely when Sniper continues to walk forward and open the door for him. 

The moment itself lasts for only a second, with Sniper’s arm out, holding the door, and Spy stuck in between them with pursed lips, bumping shoulders and knocking the suitcase against their knees. Neither move out of the way, and the awkwardness ends up lasting much longer than it ought to. 

“Ah—oh,” Sniper says, looking embarrassed once he understands. 

They skitter around the door some more, taking every miscalculated step—a stumbling left-right-left-left shuffle—until Spy sighs and nudges Sniper out of the way, just as the taller man tries for another kiss. Before they know it, Spy is standing out in the hallway, eyebrow cocked, and Sniper is facing the door with a puckered mouth that looks like a pout. 

By then it becomes funny enough for them to grin wryly. 

“We will get it right, eventually,” Spy laughs, swaying against Sniper’s exasperated light punch to his arm. 

Then he leaves, simple as that. 

  
* 

  
It’s the eighth of August and Spy is back at Goldrush. Suitcase in hand and cigarette in mouth, he walks through the hallways of the silent base, already finding comfort in the familiarity of the dim fluorescent lights flickering above his head. It’s late, and he’s tired enough to forego the usual shower before bed. 

He makes his way to the barracks, stubbing his cigarette before he enters the room. When he opens the door, a beam of light shoots into the team’s sleeping compound, revealing five evenly spaced bunks, mostly occupied with slumbering bodies. The door closes and the room goes dark again, save for a tiny light at the end of the room. Waiting for his eyes to adjust, Spy listens to the collective breathing of his team for a moment, and then times his footsteps to match the loud snoring of Heavy and Demoman, stripping off his jacket and dress shirt as he goes. 

The tiny light, he finds out, belongs to the penlight perched behind Medic’s ear. From the top of his bunk, the doctor glances down at Spy then at the clock on the wall, and gives an annoyed huff. Spy suspects that it’s more directed at the lateness of the hour than himself. 

“Willkommen zurück,” Medic greets, thumbing the book he had been reading and taking off his glasses. 

Spy almost winces; Medic’s voice is not the quietest, even with Heavy and Demoman’s combined snoring. Nevertheless, he gives a half-smirk instead. 

“Too soon, I fear,” he replies in German, waving a dismissive hand. 

Medic snorts, pulling the penlight from behind his ear and tossing it to Spy. He settles in his bed and yawns, “I am sure you will have stories over breakfast. Good night.” 

“Merci,” Spy says, giving the penlight a flourished little twirl between his fingers as he catches it. “Good night.” 

Turning to his own bunk, he catches a glimpse of Sniper on the bottom bed, fast asleep. He’s half-tempted to shine the tiny light on him to have a look, though he can imagine Sniper clear enough; body curled to one side, one hand underneath the pillow, and blankets half kicked off. There’s no telling how many times Spy had hung upside down from his bunk to peer down at Sniper, just to talk or throw his pillow under when the Australian doesn’t wake before he does. 

So instead, Spy turns off electronic torch—it was nice enough for Medic to let him borrow it, but he doesn’t need it—and tucks his suitcase away, along with his jacket, shoes, shirt, and trousers. He thinks, for a moment, how nice it might be to squeeze next to Sniper and share the bottom bunk. 

Then again, one of them is bound to be on the floor in the morning. Spy shakes his head, sneaks another glance at Sniper, and scampers up the railings to his top bunk without so much as a creak or rustle. 

Yet when he lies down and closes his eyes, Spy hears the telltale squeak of groaning springs. He waits for a bit until he feels a tiny kick beneath his mattress, which gives him just as much comfort as the knife beneath his pillow. 

Spy grins in the darkness and falls asleep. 

  
* 

  
In the morning, Sniper sits next to him at breakfast. Spy is too busy retelling his adventures in Badlands to the rest of the team to  _really_  notice how Sniper acts as if he had never left, the only indication being bland inquiries of how his trip went. While discretion in public is understandable, Spy doesn’t know what to make of the resolute silence between them in the privacy of the supply room. 

But it doesn’t matter anyway. Spy won’t let it bother him. 

  
* 

  
It’s the fifteenth of September and Spy knows by now that Sniper doesn’t show outward affection. Claps on the back or high fives are more than welcomed, but once Scout or Engineer tries to high-five  _him_ , Spy becomes miffed about not projecting the right kind of spy-persona. 

He has yet to figure out if Sniper doesn’t  _do_  displays of affection, doesn’t know  _how_ , or just  _forgets_  to. 

This, of course, excludes whatever interaction they have publically. They never go beyond friendly conversation in front of the team or out in the field. No, Spy is referring to what they do in  _private_. 

“Two weeks,” he tells Sniper, packing another suitcase. They’re both sitting on Sniper’s bunk, him on one side and Sniper on the other with the suitcase between them. He’s being sent to Yukon this time and after his performance in Badlands, word has spread that he’s a pretty versatile spy—not the best, but easily adaptable. It’s flattering, if not annoying. His paychecks are becoming hefty too, so it’s not like Spy wants to refuse the temporary transfers. 

He pulls a cigarette from his disguise kit. Per usual, Sniper lights it before Spy can even reach for his own lighter—and Spy can readily admit that he will miss this. 

“Right,” Sniper replies with a rueful edge to his smile. “You’re getting to be quite popular, aren’t ya?” 

That’s as close as Sniper will ever get to admitting that he will miss Spy, and Spy takes it. 

“What can I say, I am an irresistible man,” he grins, throwing out an easy line to follow-up on. Sniper, of course, doesn’t take it. 

“Uh-huh,” he says, scratching his forearm. 

Spy sighs, taking the cigarette from his mouth and leaning over to peck Sniper quickly on the corner of his mouth. He feels Sniper smile against him, so he can’t  _not_ like it. What a little anomaly indeed. 

“I’ll see ya ‘round,” Sniper says, just as Soldier and Pyro comes walking into the barracks in full conversation of God only knows what. 

Spy gives them an amused glance before standing up from the bed. Reaching over, he puts his cigarette in Sniper’s mouth—an improvised kiss—and claps him on the shoulder. “À bientôt.” 

  
* 

  
It’s the end of September, and Spy is still in Yukon, leaning against the white walls of the respawn room with one shoulder cradling the phone to his ear. 

“Another month?” Sniper repeats, voice sounding faraway and tinny through the earpiece. There’s a pause, and he adds, “Yeah, okay. I’ll tell the rest of the team then.” 

This isn’t exactly the reason why Spy called in the first place. His formal missives would have came in the mail for the team to read anyway, but he only slumps against the wall some more. 

“Bon. They are sending me to another location, so I will not be in Yukon. The Administrator ‘as informed me that they will be sending a rookie spy in my place for the time being. I ‘ave worked with ‘im before and ‘e is a good man. Take care of ‘im, will you?” 

“Sure thing. Where’re ya headed?” 

Egypt, Spy wants to say, but—“Je regrette, it is classified. I am not allowed outside contact for the entire duration either.” 

Meaning no more phone calls or letters, so this is going to be his last contact with Sniper for a while. He can predict what Sniper is going to say, and it bothers him. 

“Figures,” Sniper replies, not sounding the least bit perturbed, not the way Spy is, “Soldier’s also getting a transfer, up to Viaduct. Medic isn’t too happy ‘bout that. Ruins team dynamic, he says.” 

“But when _I_  transfer, ‘e is perfectly fine,” Spy snorts, one hand fumbling in his pocket for a needed cigarette. 

“Naw, mate, I think he means you too.” 

“Mm,” Spy mumbles, taking the lighter to his cigarette. While he’s lighting, the phone slips from his shoulder and clatters to the ground. Cursing, he accidentally bites down on his cigarette, distracted by Sniper’s faded ‘hello, hello?’ from the ground. Grabbing, the phone, he pays no attention to his how his voice is raises above normal, “Hello? Are you still there? Pardon, I dropped the phone on accident and—” 

Sniper’s laugh brings him more relief than it should. “Yeah, yeah. I’m still here.” 

Overreacting. Spy puts an embarrassed hand over his eyes, rubs his temples, and looks up to see a scout poking his head into the room. 

“Hey, hey. How much longer are you going to be on the phone?” the scout asks in a stage-whisper. 

Spy signals for a minute and the scout nods, fidgeting in his place. 

“I ‘ave to go,” he says to Sniper. The poor scout probably wants to call his mother. 

“Okay. I’ll talk to you in a month then, right?” 

“Oui. Promise not to miss me too much,” Spy teases out of habit, though the phrase doesn’t hold much meaning to him. 

And Sniper—well, Spy doesn’t want to read too much into it—says, “What are you on about? ‘course I’ll miss ya,” like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

They quickly say good-bye, and Spy hangs up with a smile on his face. 

  
* 

  
It’s the start of December when Spy finally leaves Egypt and returns to Goldrush. 

He would have liked to collapse in his bunk and sleep the rest of the day away—he hasn’t had the time to adjust back to the time zone—but it is just his luck that the train brings him to the base in the middle of a match. Hearing the sounds of gunfire and explosions quickens his steps to the locker room where he runs into Heavy and Pyro, stocking up on ammo. 

“You are back!” the Russian exclaims, “Little baby Spy is good spy, but has much to learn still.” 

Spy assumes ‘little baby Spy’ must have been his replacement. He opens his locker and is relieved to find his weapons ready and loaded inside. He takes out the Ambassador, considers the Cloak and Dagger, but opts for the Dead Ringer instead. “It is good to be back, mon ami. Tell me, where is the ‘baby spy’?” 

“Sent back, because you are here now, da?” 

“Shame. I may not be particularly useful today,” Spy says, stifling a yawn, “But, no matter, I am keeping you.” 

Heavy pats Spy’s shoulder in sympathy before hefting his minigun and jogging out the door. “Do not fall asleep. Naps is for babies, Spy! We have lots of babies on team now!” 

Spy shakes his head and faces Pyro, who has been strangely quiet. 

“And ‘ow ‘ave you—“ Spy begins, only pausing to note the little green ball of slime on top of Pyro’s gasmask, “—been? Is that a new ‘at?” 

Pyro nods, mumbling. He (or she) stands up, waving a hand, gesturing with a flare gun. Spy listens, bemused, and realizes a little too late that this was not the Pyro he is acquainted to. 

“Excusez-moi, I did not know at first, but I believe we ‘ave not met.” 

Again, the Pyro nods, vigorously, and jerks his thumb to the door with an apologetic murmur. 

“Of course, we will talk later,” Spy says, and the Pyro runs out of the locker room. 

It takes Spy a few more seconds to arrange his weapons and adjust his collar. All the while he is thinking of his new teammates, whether they are temporary or not. There is the new Soldier, the Pyro—and he wonders if Sniper has been replaced during his month long absence. 

Spy stops fiddling with his collar, a little uneasy. What if— 

Engineer stumbles into the room, looking harried, but he manages a grin when he sees Spy. “Well, well. Look who’s back!” 

“Engineer,” Spy nods, fingers jerking at his tie. “I see there are a lot of new faces on the team.” 

“Sure is, but none of ‘em ain’t so bad. Might want to watch out for the new Soldier though. Have you met him? Got a right temper when roused, if you ask me.” 

“Soldiers are always angry,” Spy says dismissively before asking, “What about Sniper?” 

Engineer looks at him with a raised brow and this sort of knowing half-smile. “He’s been doing okay.” 

Spy almost misses it and nearly slaps his hand over his face with how obvious he is being. “Pardon, ‘ow rude of me. ‘Ow are you, Engineer?” 

“Right as rain, don’t you worry ‘bout it, but Sniper could use a visit from you, I reckon,” Engineer replies over an armful of metal scraps. 

Spy can’t be sure, but he thinks Engineer is grinning at him. 

“I will talk to ‘im after the battle,” Spy huffs. 

“You can talk to him now, if you want. We’re holding up just fine.” 

“Lies. I see your PDA; your sentry is down,” counters Spy, closing his locker shut. “Is RED Spy causing trouble again?” 

“Don’t he always?” Engineer groans, trailing after Spy as they exit the room. “Listen, if you could—“ 

“Done, I will take care of ‘im,” Spy says, splitting from the Texan and taking the pathway to the mines. 

“Now hold on, that’s not what I meant,” Engineer calls after him, “For cryin’ out loud, I can handle that dang RED Spy myself. Just go check on Sniper. I mean it, Spy.” 

Spy sincerely doubts that Sniper needs to checked up on; it’s more of the other way around, considering Spy’s exhausted condition. Still, if Engineer is concerned, it’s all the more reason for Spy to be so as well. He waves an affirmative to Engineer and changes directions, into one of the old wooden structures where he is sure to find Sniper, and starts climbing up the stairs. 

  
* 

  
Spy expects to open the hatch and find Sniper sitting on a crate in front of the window, hunched over his rifle. 

Well, he isn’t wrong. 

“Bonjour, mon chasseur, I ‘ope I am not interrupting,” he says, climbing into the room. 

Sniper jerks from his seat, bumping his rifle against the open window to turn and stare at Spy. 

Brushing some dust from his sleeve, Spy looks at Sniper, frowning a little when he notices that the man isn’t in his usual uniform. Well, the new Pyro had some sort of odd hat, so maybe it should not be so strange. Besides, the white dress shirt and the blue tie don’t look so bad on Sniper, even if he is wearing it wrong; shirt unbuttoned and the tie undone. Sniper probably knows this, since his face is turning red, and he’s trying to shove a blue balaclava into his back pocket and— _wait_. 

It slowly dawns on Spy that both the shirt and tie are  _his_. 

He doesn’t say anything, but his ‘ _what are you doing_ ’ expression is clear enough. And even if Spy did have something to say, Sniper startles him by jumping from his seat. 

Spy takes an involuntary step back, but Sniper ignores it and wraps him up in a crushing embrace. 

For a moment, Spy doesn’t do anything but stare blankly at the wall while Sniper buries his face into his shoulder. It is 2AM in Egypt, Spy thinks, and he is having a weird dream. 

“I ‘ave ‘ad girlfriends who do that, you know.” 

Sniper grumbles for him to shut up and hug him back, so Spy does, finding himself absurdly happy to do so. 

“I—“ Sniper starts, drawing away, and the rest of his words are lost to a rocket explosion outside. He continues, sullen, “—am supposed to be taking down the RED Soldier.” 

Spy grins, “I do recall ‘aving to do a job as well. I will see you later.” 

Before he leaves, Sniper catches him by the arm and plants a kiss on his mouth, quick and fleeting. “We’ll eventually get this right, yeah?” 

Spy pauses, and suddenly laughs, “I should ‘ope," and slides down the ladder. The moment his feet touch the ground, he glances up, and asks, “Only, tell me, what is there really to get right?” 

The last thing he sees before the hatch closes is Sniper grinning back at him and, by now, Spy can already answer the question for himself. 

  
* 

  
It’s the eleventh of January, and Sniper is transferring to the Watchtower. 

“You will like it there,” Spy says from the top of his bunk and dangles his foot over the edge. 

With an annoyed grunt, Sniper pulls off Spy’s sock and stuffs it in his suitcase, and immediately gets a bare foot in the face for his troubles. He swats it away, leaning back. “I’d better like it there. I’m going to be there for  _months_. And—stop that, your foot smells—shouldn’t you be packing too?” 

Spy draws his foot back and lies down, hands behind his head, “Already done.” 

“That fast? You sure you got everything? It’s a permanent transfer, so we can’t go back.” 

The ‘ _we_ ’ has a nice ring to it, for once. Spy yawns, “I’ve had lots of practice packing, you know this.” 

From below, Sniper is quiet when he says, “Thanks.” 

“As if I would let you leave me be’ind.  I am within my rights to put in requests. Why else would I ‘ave done all that shuffling around in the first place?” 

“Well, you do like to travel, said it yourself,” Sniper says, peering up at Spy. 

“Oui,” Spy admits, but doesn’t say anything else, not with half the team lounging in the barracks with them. “But not alone. Are you ready?” 

The sound of a suitcase slamming shut answers his question and Spy climbs down from the bunk. They make their rounds to each of their teammates, old and new, saying good-bye and good luck. 

Afterward, they leave together, and it's as simple as that.


End file.
